All But a Dream
by littlejuliet
Summary: Altaïr finds himself as suddenly back home, as he had found himself in Skyrim. He fears he might have gone insane after recent events - for when he goes to sleep, he wakes up in Skyrim, following the Dragonborn like a ghost. In an effort to deal with these conflicting realities, he confides in Malik, who is surprisingly understanding. * Epilogue to "An Explorer's Guide to Skyrim" *
1. The Master Assassin

It was not the first time that Malik had walked the halls late at night to find Altaïr's candles still lit. It was also not the first time he found his friend asleep on a desk littered with paperwork.

Ever since that strange episode where Altaïr had vanished for days, Malik had been keeping an eye on him. Despite his claims of being fine, but busy – which he was – Malik had the distinct feeling that something else was weighing on his mind.

He could never really explain where he had been. He would start, saying something about snow or a city's name Malik had never heard of – but then he would stop, dismissing the topic and saying that Malik wouldn't understand.

He was no fool though, he knew that whatever had happened to Altaïr still bothered him. And even though the Master Assassin's desk was cluttered with maps and reports about Templar movements and locations of the Pieces of Eden, Malik often saw a half hidden sheet of paper with an odd map peeking out beneath the rest.

He looked at Altaïr then, awkwardly slumped in his chair, and wondered when he would finally have the opportunity to hear the secret tale. In all honestly, Malik was more than slightly curious – and Altaïr's resistance to discuss it made him even more determined to find out.

Malik was so lost in thought, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Altair suddenly sat up, waking with a start. Gripping the armrests of the chair till his knuckles were white, Altaïr's face deathly pale.

"What ails you, Altaïr?" Malik asked quietly.

"I… Nothing," he replied, wiping a hand across his face.

"When will you stop this nonsense and admit that what ever happened to you is still bothering you? You say I will think you insane if you tell me – do you think yourself insane?"

"Yes," he said with a humorless laugh. "I must be."

"That coming from the man that showed me – all of us - the power of the Apple – now you really have my attention."

"I honestly don't think you would believe me, Malik. I sometimes don't believe it myself."

"I can't sleep, you might as well amuse me with a tale of fancy if nothing else," Malik suggested, taking a seat across the table.

"Where do I start? I think the Apple must have moved me, somehow, to another place. But not a different city or continent – more like another world." Altaïr stopped here to gauge his friend's expression. At the first sight that Malik might find it amusing, he was determined to stop. But Malik regarded him coolly, obviously not finding anything entirely insane just yet.

"The place is called Skyrim, it is part of some land unknown to me, in a world I know not where. Oh Malik, the things I saw and learned of that place – truly I feel as though it must have all been a dream, an illusion."

"Was it perhaps not?"

Taking the map, with the many lines of repeated folding, a water stain here and there, and a few specs of what he assumed to be blood, he laid it out on top of the other papers on his desk.

"This was not a dream – I have been to some of these places," he said, pointing out Whiterun, Riften and the Throat of the World.

"Was it truly so different from here? As in a world away, not just, like you mentioned another unknown country?"

Thinking back, Altaïr remembered the endless landscapes of snow, the night sky decorated with shades of purples and greens and the twin moons. He remembered the dragons – actual fire-breathing dragons; races of cat and lizard people; magic as real and readily available as the air. He remembered too that serious pale face with the penetrating blue stare, that he had learned to know so well during his time there. He sighed.

"Yes, it was so very different. The culture was notably different. One would as readily see a female blacksmith, as one would a male – and soldiers and warriors are common pursuits for any able bodied person."

"That sounds odd, but by no means unbelievable."

"Magic there was no illusion. People can heal themselves or others if taught how, and cause serious damage with fire or lighting, straight from their hands."

"Now that sounds dangerous, and more far-fetched," his friend observed.

"Could be – but since it was so common, no-one thought it odd. They are also having a slight dragon problem, currently."

"Dragons." Malik repeated.

Altaïr shrugged. "I told you I will sound insane."

"No no – please continue."

"They too have an assassins guild – called the Dark Brotherhood –"

"Sounds ominous…"

"It was a senior member of their order that I met on my first evening there. Apparently we had both been sent for the same location. She remained quite an interesting guide for the remainder of my time there."

Malik raised his brows at the word "she".

"The problem is," Altaïr continued regardless. "I have been having very vivid dreams about Skyrim since my return. I feel as if I am still there, like I am a shadow following her around, seeing what's happening there."

"Perhaps it is just that – dreams? Perhaps your mind is completing a story, so to speak?"

"I had thought so too, but it doesn't feel that way. I made a foolish promise – one I had no way of knowing whether I would be able to keep it or not – and it is almost as if that strange land of magic is somehow fulfilling it, even though I am not physically there."

"What promise could have been so important?"

"She has to prevent the end of their world at the hands of an ancient black dragon. And even though she is perhaps one of the most fearless people I've met – it terrified her to face the creature alone, to have the fate of her entire world in her hands. And in a moment when she felt alone and hopeless, I foolishly promised that she would not have to face the dragon alone. And now, when I sleep, I wake up in the snowy lands of Skyrim, where I involuntarily follow her like a wraith – I see the battles she fights, the insane things she does to try and fulfill her destiny."

Malik regarded Altaïr for a long while.

"See, I told you I was insane," Altaïr said with a snort. In truth, he had begun to wonder whether the place, and the people of Skyrim really existed. While he was there is felt so real, but in his familiar study, at his desk with his papers – if felt just too impossible. But then there was the map, and the cloak – items that came from there. Countless times when he had woken in a cold sweat, sure his mind was slipping – he would take comfort in looking at the white cloak neatly folded in the chest by his bed. It felt heavy and real, and the odd blue shimmer when the light caught it just right made him certain that it hadn't all just been an insane dream.

"Well," Malik replied quietly. "If you say the place is real, then I for one believe you. It does sound like an opium induced dream – but I do believe you."

"Really?" he replied, a bit skeptical.

"Altaïr, this is you we're talking about – you are not one for idle fancies. And I think your explanation of why you dream about it might also be accurate. What causes you to wake with such distress then?"

"Well, it is like being pulled back to a different world every time, quite disorientating. And I usually awake just as she is about to do something stupidly reckless."

Malik smiled, clearly his friend had become quite attached to the woman. He didn't doubt Altaïr's story – however unbelievable it might have sounded. If it had been anyone else, Malik would have laughed them off. But Altaïr was far too careful and guarded, and thus Malik was inclined to believe this outlandish tale.

"What was her most recent exploit?"

"She has managed to capture another dragon – to extract the whereabouts of the ancient black dragon. It has convinced her to let it fly her to the location, claiming she can reach it no other way. I woke up just after they released the creature's chains and she mounted it. Unbelievable, really," Altaïr said, shaking his head.

"That sounds like a bad idea, yes."

. . .

She had managed to capture his second in command. An arrogant dragon of great power – and he has agreed to take her to the land of the dead, where Alduin was replenishing his power after their previous encounter, by devouring the souls of the honored dead.

Heck, perhaps she'll just stay in Sovngarde once the battle is over.

She mounted the great dragon Odahviing's neck, and held her breath as he took her high up into the sky. The dragon had been right though – travelling on the ground would forever pale against the memory of soaring among the clouds. She could almost imagine hearing Altaïr's voice in her head, berating her for her reckless actions.

. . .


	2. Dovahkiin

The following night Altaïr dreaded going to sleep – but he has tried staying up before, and somehow he had always fallen asleep, no matter where he was or how uncomfortable he had tried to make himself.

Malik gave him a sympathetic smile as he bid him goodnight. He was still not sure whether Malik truly believed him, but his friend had said nothing to the contrary.

Waking up in Skyrim, Altaïr saw Quill talking to the big red dragon, apparently it had kept its word.

"This is as far as I can take you. Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return, or for Alduin's," rumbled the great creature, before flying away.

Quill followed the only road open to her, and was soon fighting the walking dead on her path. Altaïr though her skill had increased considerably since the time he was there. She also looked scrawnier to him, and paler than he remembered.

He followed her along ancient steps and through long deserted temple halls, her progress seemingly unstoppable through the many dangers that the place held. She eventually reached a portal, guarded by a powerful wraith-lord.

The wraith-lord was a tough fight, and Quill seemed exhausted and cold by the time she finally defeated him. She stumbled towards the portal, and Altaïr wondered if they would really end up in this 'Sovngarde'. It was the land of the dead, and the living had no place there, and yet that is where she needed to go. She held her breath and stepped through the portal - pulling Altaïr with her.

Altaïr saw their surroundings change, the temple fell away to reveal a misty grassland, rolling mists made it impossible to see too far ahead, and far-off singing could be heard, emphasized once in a while by the distant grumble of a dragon.

Through a shout that cleared the mist, she lead the way down a winding road, finding many souls trapped by the inescapable fog. One, calling himself a Stormcloak soldier, warned her not to enter the mist – as it was where Alduin lurked. The dragon had apparently already devoured the man's companions.

"At the end of the valley lies Shor's Hall – please, I beg you, can you lead me there to join the other fallen heroes?" the man pleaded.

She agreed, and went on till they finally reached the great hall, accessible only by a hanging bridge, which was guarded by a gigantic bear of a man – Tsun the gate guardian.

"What right have you to enter the Hall of Valor?" the man demanded.

"None – as of yet," she replied. "But if one exists – it is by the right of birth. I am Dragonborn."

"Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood! You must prove your worth in a warrior's duel," he replied, drawing his weapon – a huge two-handed axe.

She looked up at the man, slowly drawing her swords, and awaited his first swing. Even though she blocked it, the force was enough to fling her several feet back.

"Oh crap," Altaïr heard her mutter, as she got to her feet. She ran head-long at the man, it appeared as though she would run right into his next swing. But at the very last second, she dropped to her knees, neatly sliding below the blow, and rising directly behind him. She kicked his legs out from beneath him, and swung one sword towards the man's unprotected back.

He was however not merely strong, but quick too, and he somehow managed to bring his axe around to block her swing. Using her dual swords like a scissor, she caught the axe just behind its head, and with his arms pulled back, she placed her boot at the base of his neck and pushed forward as hard as she could, attempting to disarm him.

The man laughed, pulling her clean over her shoulder. She landed on her back, but as he rushed forward for the killing swing, she caught him directly under the chin with the heel of her boot, somehow mustering enough force to send him staggering back a few paces. Taking this slight advantage, she leapt against him, toppling him over and ending with her knees firmly buried in his chest, her blades crossed over his throat.

He laughed, and she climbed off, taking deep breathes.

"Very well, Dragonborn. I grant you passage to the Hall of Valor," the man said with a bright smile.

"It's hardly fair – you're like three times my size and strength ," she muttered as she passed him, walking slowing along the whale-bone bridge. Altaïr followed, unseen by her side, feeling like he too could breathe again. That was a close one, she had very nearly not passed the man's test.

Entering the warm glow of the hall, one could barely imagine that Alduin was right outside their doorstep wreaking havoc. The hall was merrily lit and the Nord heroes enjoyed song and drink and food by the plenty.

One man stood aside – greeting Quill as she entered.

"Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here."

"Wow, Ysgramor," Quill said below her breath, her eyes bright. "Why has none challenged him?" she asked.

"By Shor's command we have sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe," he said motioning towards two men and a woman standing a little way off. "Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle; Harkon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim."

She inclined her head to the legendary hero and approached the three that had first bested Alduin.

"Hail, Dragonborn," they greeted her. "We have awaited your arrival – we will join our shouts with yours, and finish what we started those many years ago. Lead, and we will follow you."

The three – and one unseen – followed her outside, where they gathered by the gate keeper.

Joining their four voices together, Quill and the heroes used Clear Skies to banish the mist from Sovngarde. The mist dissipated, and Alduin's annoyed roar could be heard approaching.

A barrage of fire preceded the dragon's arrival – but like the battle at the Throat of the World, Dragon Rend forced the giant creature to the ground, where the three ancient heroes, the gate keeper and Quill could do damage to him before he took to the skies again.

After a few times that he had been forced to land, Altaïr was sure the dragon seemed to get desperate. Out of instinct, he too dodged the balls of fire that fell from the sky – doubtful that they would harm him, but also not too keen to find out otherwise.

The dragon snatched Quill from the ground, closing its mighty jaws around her midsection, and with force bit down. She screamed, loosing grip of one sword, as she tried prying the powerful jaws apart. Using the blade she still clutched, she drove it into the side of the dragon's head. Alduin roared in pain and fury, sending her falling the a distance to the ground. She got up on shaky legs, the others still doing what damage they could to the grounded dragon. With new determination, she drove her sword from below through the dragon's skull.

Alduin wreathed in pain, screaming and thrashing in dismay, as his great bulk started disintegrating, first burning out with a golden glow similar to the dragon Altaïr had seen killed before, but even the World Eater's tar-black bones disintegrated into nothing.

The heroes bade Quill farewell, and Tsun congratulated her, saying that the heroes lost in the mist would now finally be able to find and enter the Hall. He taught her a shout as a reward and sent her, and Altaïr, back to the land of the living.

When Altaïr opened his eyes, he looked onto a view he had seen before – the Throat of the World. What was a stark contrast however, was the presence of numerous dragons, perched among the ragged rocks.

Each in turn acknowledged her destruction of Alduin World-Eater and then departing, filled the sky with the thunderous sound of roars. Paarthurnax too offered his congratulations, and expressed the hope to convince other dragons to join his ideal in the Way of the Voice.

The last to approach was Odahviing, he swore allegiance to her – giving her free use of his name to summon him should she require aid.

It was a most impressive sight, one that Altaïr would not be likely to forget - a lone figure standing on the snow covered mountain high above the world below, framed by dragons giving a mere human the ultimate honor. She had done it – she had really managed to prevent the end of their world.

As the last dragons disappeared from sight, Quill put her hand speculatively to her side, and removed it covered in blood. Powerless to do more than watch, Altaïr saw her crumple to the ground, staring up at the cloudy sky, the snow below her quickly becoming drenched in red.

"Drink a potion, damned it, or cast a bloody spell," Altaïr said, but his words were clearly unheard.

Her breathing had become shallower, and a few snowflakes had come to rest on her lashes, her small puffs of breath in the cold air becoming fainter and fainter, until there were none.


End file.
